


Idle Hands

by Azaria



Category: Gideon the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Gratuitous Smut, Hellfire from Hunchback except make it sexy, Improper Use of Catholic Rituals, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, literal sinning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:01:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaria/pseuds/Azaria
Summary: "To the bed, I think, Sister. It will be our altar to your ascendancy."Harrowhark Nonagesimus is a priest within the Catholic church. And is also terrible at dealing with her own emotions. Especially when it comes to Gideon.
Relationships: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 60





	Idle Hands

**Author's Note:**

> I was bullied over here to post this by the GtN Discord's NSFW channel. This one is for you, folks.

“Forgive me, for I have sinned,”

The quiet words filter through the confessional booth and Harrow sits up straighter in her seat. She looks forward, but out of the corner of her eye and through the divider, she thinks she might see a familiar flash of flame coloured hair. Perhaps even a familiar voice.

Harrow frowns in thought. If this _was_ Gideon; the terror that haunted her and roamed her mind since they’d first met. It’s likely she’s only here to rile her up. To _tempt_ her again with that stupid smirk of hers. She-- Harrow shakes her head and refocuses on the task at hand as the person next to her speaks once more. Resolving to remain resolute in the face of her greatest weakness.

“I have been having. Impure thoughts. About a member of the church.”

Her brows rise at the confession, and Harrow can’t help but smile to herself as a small, insidious idea worms it’s way into her mind.

“That sounds quite serious,” she tells Gideon on the other side of the partition. “And you’re looking for absolution?”

“Yes.”

Harrow _grins_ now, and sits back on the bench.

A brief image comes to mind, of having Gideon knelt piously in front of her, accepting communion with her lips and tongue on Harrow’s fingers. Begging for salvation.

“I think you would need to undertake a drastic sort of penance,” Harrow begins, pleased with how things are laying themselves out for her. “You’ll need to seek out the object of your attention and confess to them your obsession. Confess to them, to receive your penance.”

She has Gideon right where she wants her now. She hardly thinks Gideon will bother and call her bluff. Even if she did, having her pliant and on her knees before herself will be all the sweeter.

Gideon’s gone quiet on the other side of the divider. After a few moments of her not saying anything, Harrow looks over and finds the confessional blessedly empty. 

Hah. Goes to show her.

Suddenly, her side of the confessional clatters open and Gideon is standing there, looking at her with bright, damning eyes. They stare at one another for a long few moments before Gideon steps into the booth, shutting the door behind her. 

She forgets, sometimes, how big Gideon is, but it definitely shows now. Gideon has to stoop, standing in the small space and her broad, muscled form takes up most of the space that Harrow isn't already occupying. Harrow opens her mouth to comment, but her thoughts quickly jerk to a stop when Gideon cups her face in her hands. They're big, warm and rough with calluses and Harrow shudders at the touch.

"Sister," Gideon says thickly, her gaze falling down to Harrow's mouth. "I confess that I have had thoughts of defiling your holy being, in this sacred place."

Gideon looms closer still and kisses her hungrily. Almost worshipfully. And Harrow makes a noise against Gideon's mouth, her hands gripping desperately at her shirt in some attempt to ground herself. Despite this, her head is dizzy and her breath is ragged when they finally part, Gideon's gaze pinning her in place while her thumb traces over her lips, forcing them to part. Harrow takes the offending digit into her mouth, sucking it gently and running her tongue against it.

They kiss until they're breathless once more panting and clinging to one another and Harrow’s head spins. The heat from Gideon's hands feels like it's seeping into her very bones and she's burning from the inside out with this delicious sacrilege. They shift about in the limited space, choked out gasps and half-aborted moans flowing around them until Harrow is settled in Gideon's lap, her back pressed against her solid frame and burning under her touch as Gideon works to ruck Harrow's robe up around her hips.

Gideon palms her thighs and she burns with want, her head lolling back against Gideon's shoulder as she parts her legs pleadingly. There's a noise of amusement that rumbles in the chest behind her and sounds next to her ear, and Gideon's hands wander higher still, though still shy of their ultimate goal. 

"So eager to be despoiled?"

Harrow lets out a panting gasp, grasping at the arms wrapped around her like binding irons.

_"Please."_

The beast of temptation settled behind her rumbles her amusement once more and runs callused fingers feather-light against her sex and Harrow chokes out a moan. Gideon's other hand holds her hip, keeping her in place so she can't arch and follow after those fingers when they retract. 

"You're awfully eager for this, Sister, for someone who's supposedly kept themselves pure of sin. How long have you wanted this for, Sister? To be pulled apart and desecrated?"

Harrow gasps and sighs under the ministrations, trying to hold out against answering until she feels like she's going to go mad. "I--Forever. Eternity. Since I saw you."

Gideon teases at her entrance, and she runs her tongue against Harrow’s neck. “Do you want to be taken, despoiled and deflowered, Sister?”

She shakes, sobbing, grabbing at Gideon and trying to strain against her hands. She consents, nodding frantically. “Yes yes yes. _Please_.” 

She wants to be devoured and _taken_. Right here, right on holy ground and she tries to spread herself wider in invitation; her whole body is trembling and she is _dripping_.

Gideon. The Beast. Gives a rumble of amusement from behind Harrow and licks a path down her throat, nipping as she goes, and with every bite, Harrow feels the collar of the Beast tighten like a leash around her neck. 

“It sure _feels_ like you want to be taken. Isn't the flesh such a traitor?”

"My flesh is yours. My soul is yours. Take them. Take me."

Gideon's fingers stop teasing and Harrow lets out a desperate sob, pleading. But then the arm around her, keeping her still, loosens, and Harrow's hands are free. The Beast behind her rumbles again. 

"Show me your devotion, then. Take the first steps and profane yourself under the eyes of your god."

There's no hesitation from Harrow, her fingers fly to her cunt at Gideon's prompting and immediately touches herself just like she wants Gideon to do. Roughly sliding her fingers inside herself with her palm against her clit. Harrow's mind goes blissfully blank at her own ministrations and she groans lowly. 

She pants and keens and arches back against the solid form behind her, and after a time, Gideon's hand covers hers for just a moment, teeth scraping against her ear as she speaks. 

"Good. Now fall for me. _Show_ me."

Harrow is _flying,_ then falling falling falling, having embraced her sin and depravity and the Beast is right there with her teeth at her throat and her fingers next to hers inside her cunt.

Gideon's hand over her mouth is the only thing that keeps the whole church from hearing Harrow shriek as she comes _hard_ , shaking violently in the beast's grasp and gushing all over her fingers.

"If I _wanted_ the whole church to know of your fall, I would have taken you at the altar."

Harrow can't help but moan as the image comes to mind. Of getting mounted at the altar for all to witness, like a bitch in heat. Her cunt tightens reactively and Gideon chuckles lowly.

Harrow doesn't want this to ever end. She wants the devil at her shoulder to drag her down down down and make her _burn_. She sobs into Gideon's hand and tries to arch into the sinful curl of the fingers lazily pumping inside her.

"I'm going to peel you apart bit by bit," comes the now-familiar growl of her new master. "I'm going to defile and claim _every_ inch of you until you're wholly and unquestionably _mine_."

Harrow can only groan as her tormentor claims her piece by piece, seeding insidious thoughts through the large, calloused hands that run over every tender bit of her. At some point, she braces both feet against the wall of the confessional and she's rewarded by a pleased croon from Gideon as damning fingers dig their way deeper into her soul. Spreading corruption in their wake.

The beast continues their defilement for a time and she seems to delight in seeing what noises she can drag from her, drawing her up up up once more, only to hush Harrow when the noises reach a high, quavering crescendo more than once as she falls. 

Harrow’s mind is so committed to her Fall. So focused on being filled with sin. That she doesn't notice they're not alone anymore until Gideon bites at her neck and her fingers retreat from inside her. Harrow nearly whines at the loss but forces herself to speak to the person on the other side of the wall.

"W-what troubles you, my child?"

Harrow isn't sure how she manages it. How she manages to speak while she _burns_. The beast that's settled behind her and all around her tempts her further while Harrow pays lip service to the soul on the other side, a tongue sliding against her neck and clever fingers teasing at her entrance once more.

Somehow she does, stuttering her way through the confession, but she's _sure_ everyone knows of her depravity now. How her now blackened soul yearns and burns to be pulled apart and defiled again and again and again.

Once the man is gone, the Beast, damn her, refuses to return their fingers as they were and Harrow rubs at herself desperately. Gideon’s hand is quick to cover hers, stilling her actions.

“Show me somewhere private,” comes the demand, low and warning next to her ear and Harrow, in all her years of existence, in penance to God and servitude of others, asks dumbly:

“Whatever for, Master?”

“So that I may consecrate your Ascension, worship your image as of a saint; for you will be my bride, and my flesh and I will be your undoing and your resurrection. I desire you for no one else's eyes today but my own.”

Harrow stands unsteadily, her legs just barely complying with her commands and the Beast unfolds itself to stand, looming over her once more. Harrow's mind is again filled with what sort of depravity her new Master has in store for her and her body burns again.

Her mouth is suddenly dry, but she dutifully leads Gideon to her own private quarters on shaky legs. She can feel Gideon’s liquid fire gaze burning into her back and it's only her Master’s orders that keep her going, likely leaving a dripping trail in their wake. They arrive at her rooms soon enough, nonetheless, and Gideon is sure to shut the lock the door behind them. 

That burning gaze turns on Harrow once more and the Beast rumbles at her again.

"Strip. Bare yourself for your salvation and resurrection. Show yourself to your new master."

Harrow shudders under that gaze and slowly begins to comply. Her fingers stuttering over the catches of her ceremonial robe as she removes it, and she lets it pool on the ground at her feet. Gideon makes no move to bare herself in turn, and closes the distance between them instead, cupping Harrow's bared breasts in her hands and pinching at the nipples until Harrow squeaks.

The Beast smiles slowly, teeth bared as she does. "Excellent," she murmurs, idly leaning down to take a breast in her mouth and bite. Harrow cries out and grasps at her, but Gideon steps out of reach again.

"To the bed, I think, Sister. It will be our altar to your ascendancy."

They move again and gooseflesh rises in anticipation of whatever the Beast has planned next, along with the fine hairs on the back of her neck. 

When they reach the bed, a low rumble from Gideon bids her lay down and Harrow scrambles to comply. Her Master looms over her, power and temptation and decadence given flesh, and she arranges Harrow’s limbs just so. Like an offering or sacred ritual.

"Stay still," Gideon orders. And _descends_.

The Beast's touch set her ablaze before, igniting her from the inside out and filling her with an unquenchable need. Her _mouth_ is so much more and she's engulfed in hellfire with just a touch of it to her thigh, a high, quavering noise tearing itself from Harrow's throat.

The Beast mouths a kiss to the opposite thigh and Harrow is burned, consumed and born again in defiling baptism. She tries desperately to stay in place, squirming and fisting the sheets as her tormentor, her new God. Slowly, steadily looms further over her like stone given life.

"Pray," the Beast murmurs against her lower lips, and Harrow can feel the shape of her mouth and the heat of her breath. "Pray in my name."

And Harrow does, setting off in a litany that would put even the most devout to shame. Gideon's name spills from her lips again and again in a chant. Promising obedience. Devotion.

The Beast lowers her head. And _consumes_. Harrow's back arches sharply off the mattress and the chanting reaches a fever pitch, her hands desperately knotted in her sheets. She is profaned. Burned. Resurrected into a thing that wants.

Harrow does her best to endure under Gideon's ministrations, breath coming out high and reedy. She's _soaking_ , but she's so _empty_. She whines, angling her head down to look down at the Beast crouched between her legs. _"Please,_ " she pleads to the bringer of her downfall. To her ascension. "I need you _inside_. L-like in the booth." She lets out a shuddering breath, and that molten gaze looks up at her. " _Please._ "

The Beast between her legs rumbles low once more and her fingers brush feather-light as they did when this sacrilege began. "Patience," Gideon begins, and Harrow's mind goes blank briefly. "Is a virtue, Sister. And Salvation is _earned_. You will gain your reward once you have shown proper fealty."

Gideon's lips are on her own again and Harrow trembles with the effort to keep herself in place, to please the Beast enough to earn what she wants. To be able to be _full_ again. To _burn_ inside and out. She wants to shriek her devotion to the sky, to declare her allegiance to this sublime blasphemy. Gideon seems content to keep her attention slow and thoughtful. Though merciless. Touching and lapping _just_ enough to keep Harrow ascending, but never reaching that ultimate finale.

Harrow had no idea that she _could_ ascend this far; normally in her bed alone she's shivering and coming long before this, but The Beast's large hands keep her in place and she strains against them as she rapidly loses her mind. She wants to be defiled and full and _claimed_. She _lusts_.

She forgets the contents of her prayers as soon as they leave her lips, her lolling tongue like a dog's, absolute in its starvation. The Beast's lips suckle on her most sensitive places as if she's tasting the nectar off of a flower: big encompassing broad strokes and a strong imponent press of her master’s own devilish silver tongue. She is _thrashing_ and it is too much and not enough. 

_“Gideon—!”_ the name flies off her mouth in the throes of supplication, Harrow doesn't have a follow-up statement, years of careful rhetoric studies chucked out the window at the presence of this _woman_ , this snake and prophesied saint all rolled up into one. “ _GIDEON!”_

The Beast relents only enough to gaze upon her again: the eyes are molten yellow pools from the rivers of Hell, and above them, an eyebrow quirked in amusement. She raises her head high enough to rest her chin atop Harrow's thigh and she sees, in a shimmering gleam brought by the light, her _unholy_ spilled juices, coating the Beast's mouth. 

“I've always loved when you screamed my name,” she rumbles in laughter. “Although it hasn’t _nearly_ been with as much **_gusto_**.”

And before Harrow can huff out an incredulous response, the Beast dooms and exalts her once more:

“You can grab my hair if you need to,” and presses a forceful, close-lipped of a kiss to her lower mouth. “Don't bother muffling your screams.”

Harrow’s hands immediately fly to Gideon’s hair and this time she gives in and _shrieks_ like the damned soul that she is. _Filth_ flies from her mouth as she begs desperately to get the Beast to comply with what she desperately and urgently _needs_.

The Beast’s hands are still pinning her hips, but Harrow has her by the hair and she tries to pull her mouth where she needs it to be. The Beast sends her flying higher and higher still with no relief in sight, using Harrow’s body for her own corrupted communion, drinking of her very soul and _consuming_ her. She is damned and saved and damned again and it’s both too much and not enough at the same time. The most exquisite torture.

When the Beast finally drives two fingers inside her. _Fills_ her. Harrow _howls_ , back arching off the bed and fingers clawing at Gideon’s hair. Everything goes white, and Harrow _falls_. 

And it’s _sublime._

  
  
  
  
  


When Harrow wakes, it’s morning, and she’s alone. Sheets, blankets and pillows twisted and puffed up around her as if she’d been laid on a bier and the only other evidence from her previous night’s activities is a telling wetness lingering between her legs.

Slowly, she rises and gets ready for the day, washing and dressing in familiar, ornamental robes, heading for the confessional booths. She enters, and there is quickly noise on the other side of the divider.

“Forgive me, for I have sinned.”


End file.
